


Heart's Abundance

by LadyWynne



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, New Year, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWynne/pseuds/LadyWynne
Summary: This is the story of a particularly meaningful holiday season on the Ridge. Winter will bring the Frasers and those they love even closer together.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 88
Kudos: 141





	1. Giving Thanks

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place directly after MOBY. Roger and Brianna have returned to the Ridge and everyone is settled in at the new Big House for the Winter.

Bree and I are sitting in the kitchen, enjoying my own special blend of “Liberty Tea,” a mixture of dried strawberry leaves, lemon balm, and chamomile. It is hot, fragrant, and delicious. As we sip, the afternoon sun warms the whole room, giving the feeling of a golden cocoon in the midst of a particularly cold November day. Adso is with us, basking in a windowsill, and we are all practically purring with contentment. Then the sound of dried leaves crackling underfoot reaches our ears. We have visitors. Brianna and I sigh slightly but smile at each other. She opens the door while I take a honey cake from the cupboard. 

It is Young Ian and Rachel. I smile warmly at them. Ian is dressed in particular native splendor today, owing to a visit from a group of prominent Mohawks passing through. His head is freshly plucked and spiked, with metal ornaments and turkey feathers hanging from the back. Over his pink calico shirt is a vest decorated with astonishing beadwork, and his buckskin trousers are fringed. Next to him Rachel’s Quaker attire is a contrast. She is in a gray wool dress with plain white cap and kerchief. As she enters the sunny room, she unwraps her shawl to reveal the newest Murray, snuggled in a sling against his mother.

Brianna closes the door behind them, then her face lights with a smile, “Why, you look like a Thanksgiving pageant!”

The couple look at each other in incomprehension. “A what, cuz?” Ian inquires.

“You know! When the Pilgrims and Indians ate together. At Plymouth? It was a long time ago…” Her voice becomes more hesitant as the faces of our guests remain blank.

I understand the difficulty. Thanksgiving isn’t celebrated now, even though the famous harvest meal happened more than one hundred years before. I’m struggling to salvage this time-travel _faux pas_ when Jamie steps through the door leading to the front of the house. He bends to kiss my cheek then crosses to wiggle a finger at the newly freed baby. “And what’s that then?” he says, turning to Brianna. “Is thanksgiving not something you do, no a meal?”

“Well...” she hesitates, then boldly rushes on. “Where I grew up, in Boston, some people take a day near the end of November to give thanks for their blessings. They celebrate with a feast and invite close friends and family.”

“It sounds lovely,” Rachel says kindly, “though oughtn’t we to give thanks every day?”

“Of course,” Brianna agrees, ‘it’s just nice to take a special moment for it now and then.” She looks wistfully at me. “Right Mama?”

Suddenly I recall craft-paper feathers, Macy’s parade on the television, and the taste of a cranberry jello salad in perfect vividness. I move to stand by Brianna and take her arm, smiling softly in understanding. “Yes, darling. It is.”

Jamie looks at us and his own face grows tender. Rachel still looks confused, but Ian, who has been watching carefully exclaims, “Sounds like a fine idea! We should have our own thanks meal, aye?”

I look at Ian gratefully, thankful indeed for his enthusiastic spirit. I also see Jamie’s face. It is creasing slowly into a smile. “Aye. We should.”

Brianna’s hand tightens on my arm in excitement. “Great! We’ll have Thanksgiving on the Ridge!”

-o0OOO0o-

A few days later I pull Brianna’s turkey out of the oven and baste it well with drippings, butter, and thyme before pushing it back inside for another half hour. It is nearly time to eat and the bounty of the Ridge is spread throughout the kitchen. It will be a delicious meal (if I do say so myself). The smell is heaven, and by the discreet peeking and increasingly frequent visits of men and small children, they think so too.

Jamie and Brianna brought down this large tom the day before. Even with ten people there will be plenty to go around. I had also dug the last of the fresh vegetables and emptied the pantry. Fanny had spent the entire prior afternoon baking. It would be a feast indeed.

The table is set and festooned with colorful dried leaves and pinecones. Roger even wove a clever cornucopia from twigs and filled it with gourds. Perfect. The turkey has a chestnut mushroom stuffing. There are also yams and brussels sprouts and onion gravy, and (elegance indeed!) yeast dinner rolls rather than corn bread. Crocks of butter and honey and jam round out the meal. My mouth waters just setting it all out.

Soon everyone gathers and we ceremoniously present the _pièce de résistance_ on a platter. Looking from face to face around our large farm table I see Fanny’s eyes widen and smile happily to myself. We are all here, Brianna, Roger, Jem, and Mandy. Germain and Fanny. Jenny and Ian and Rachel with the baby sleeping peacefully in a basket. Jamie takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, then leans over and whispers, “I often think your time strange, Sassenach, but this is fine, aye?” He kisses my lips softly.

The others, used to us, are chattering away. Jamie straightens, clears his throat and waits for quiet, then looks to the end of the table, saying formally, “ _Ieremiah, an toireadh tu taing?"_

Jem, sensitive to the honor thus bestowed, sits up straight as an arrow, “Aye, sir.” He folds his hands before him and I am suddenly reminded of my first dinner at Leoch, when young Hamish said grace. Jem has the same red hair. I add Hamish to my prayers as we all bow our heads together.

“Dear Holy Father. Thank ye for the food before us. Thank ye for our family and friends. Bless us, O Lord, and help us to do good always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Amen,” the table echoes. 

Jemmy peaks at his father, and at Roger’s nod of approval relaxes happily in his chair. Jamie carves and wafts of fragrant steam are released. The table makes noises of appreciation all around. We fill our plates and enjoy the meal.

“You know,” Roger says, buttering a roll. "Since we are giving thanks today, maybe we should each say something we’re thankful for. I believe that’s something they do in Boston, aye Brianna?” He smiles at his wife and she nods.

“Oh yes, it’s a tradition.” When no one volunteers she goes on, and looking directly at Jamie and I, “I’m thankful to be home.” Brianna then turns to Mandy on her right. “And what about you sweetheart? What are you thankful for?”

Mandy turns up a honey-smeared face and smiles. “I thankful for Esmeralda!”

Everyone chuckles and Roger goes next. “I’m thankful for family, for my wife and bairns.”

Jem says, “I’m thankful for Grandda. And Grandma,” he adds hastily.

Germain is next. “I’m thankful for my friends.” He smiles at Fanny and Jem.

Fanny answers in a small voice, “I’m thankful to Mr. and Mrs. Fraser for keeping me.”

“Oh Fanny,” I say gently, “We want to.” She blinks quickly and gives a small smile and we continue.

Jenny, Ian, and Rachel take their turns.

“I’m thankful for our new wee bairn.”

“I’m thankful to have my mam here, and my wife.”

“I’m thankful for the peace we enjoy here.”

Jamie says simply, “I’m thankful for ye, Sassenach.”

I look around the table slowly and finally turn my face up to Jamie, the man who is my heart, “I’m thankful for each of us. For love and family. For every moment.”

“Amen,” he says, and kisses me.

-o0OOO0o-

Soon afterward the table is cleared, and dessert brought out. We have apple tansey, clootie dumpling, and for Brianna, pumpkin pie. There is also custard and sweet cream. I am just setting coffee to boil when a solid thump sounds on the front door. Everyone freezes in surprise for a heartbeat. Visitors are nearly unheard-of this time of year. Then, just as chaos breaks out, Jamie rises. He walks to the front of the house, myself close behind. He seems unhurried and calm, but I notice he carries the carving knife in his left hand.

Jamie opens the door, letting in a blast of frigid November air. What greets us looks like nothing so much as a bear covered in deer hide. Albeit a bear with merry blue eyes glinting above his beard.

“Myers!” Jamie greets the mountain man warmly, discreetly passing the knife to me. I stash it in my deep pocket. “Welcome! What brings ye here so late in the year?”

The bristles part with Myers’ grin. “Well, I’ll tell ‘ee sir. I’ve come wi’ company. Found ‘im near frozen on his way up from Cross Creek.” He steps aside to reveal a second figure in the dooryard, just as tall, but more solidly built.

Peering around Jamie’s shoulder my mouth falls open in shock. The last person I ever expected to see on the Ridge is the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere.

For once I recover more quickly than Jamie, and step around my husband. “William!” I say in sincere pleasure.

The young man looks up a bit uncertainly, then seeing my happiness recovers himself. “Mother Claire.” He might have said more but is prevented by a blur of yellow homespun that comes hurtling through the door and crashes into his middle. William teeters precariously at the impact before coming solidly back to his feet, Frances Pocock clinging to him in perfect imitation of a baby opossum on its mother’s back.

“William! Oh William! I thought I might never th-, see you again!”

William gingerly pats the capped head. “It’s good to see you again too, Fanny.” He smiles gently down, a slight shadow passing briefly in the depths of his slanted eyes. He gently disentangles Fanny and turns to Jamie. “I hope our arrival isn’t a cause of inconvenience to you sir. I…”

Seeing him hesitate I break in as politely as I can. “Of course not! You are both most welcome! Come in and warm up. We are just about to have dessert.”

I usher the newcomers and the gaping crowd back into the kitchen. In a few moments of flurried activity William and John Quincey are greeted by all and settled at the table, the children relocated to stools.

“We had a fine harvest this year so we’re having a wee meal to celebrate and give thanks for it,” Jamie explains, smiling.

“Judging from this bounty, indeed you have!” Myers exclaims as he unabashedly fills his plate with apple tansey, sweet cream, and one of the remaining rolls covered in honey and jam. Jem and Germain looking on in fascination.

I pour him coffee, hiding a smile. “We’re pleased to share it with you.”

William eats more sedately, but with evident pleasure. Watching him, Fanny on one side and Brianna on the other, I wonder suddenly why he has come. Then I look at Jamie. He is watching the boy as well, and though his face is expressionless, to me his eyes reveal the joy he takes in the sight. No. The reason doesn’t matter. I slide my arm around Jamie’s and lean against him, expressing without words my own joy in his happiness.


	2. Hearthside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William is welcomed to the Ridge and begins to find his place.

After our harvest meal the afternoon passes in pleasant repletion. The adults scatter to various corners to doze and chat. Jem, Germain, and Fanny disappear outside. I can hear them laughing as I lay a quilt over a sleeping Mandy. She took to John Quincey immediately, and is now curled up beside him on the settle. 

This state of peaceful repose lasts approximately an hour. Then Jamie stands and stretches himself, back popping. He looks at William, “Will ye walk wi’ me? I can reacquaint you with the place.” 

William stands as well, nodding, “Yes, of course.” He remains a bit formal, and I wish I knew more about their last meeting. 

I watch them from the kitchen door as they go, boots crunching the fallen leaves with each step, so alike in gait and height that no one could fail to see them for what they are, a father and his son. 

When I turn around Ian is there with his baby in his arms. He stares thoughtfully at the door for a moment before sitting down at the table. He says nothing and I wait patiently, taking the baby and feeling his warm heavy weight. Finally, Young Ian turns to me, “Ye know Auntie, I don’t know why yon man has come, but I think maybe it’s to do with you as well as Uncle Jamie.” 

I shake my head. “I don’t think so Ian. Whatever would William want with me?” 

Ian gives a small smile, “Maybe he needs ye.” 

I gently rock the baby, not looking up as I say, “No. What use could I possibly be?” 

Ian touches my arm to draw my attention. His brown eyes are soft. “Ye can be kind. Ye can be a comfort.” 

His voice becomes more matter-of-fact. “The Mohawk do say women are great healers of body and spirit. They provide strength and consistency to all.” He smiles at me, “Maybe William needs to find his strength just now.” 

I nod, but I’m not convinced. “Maybe.” 

We sit a moment longer, enjoying the peace. I smooth the baby’s soft downy hair, then give him my finger, watching in fascination as the tiny hand closes around it even in sleep. 

Finally, Ian moves to go. “Just think on it, Auntie, aye?” He takes the little one and leaves to find Rachel. 

I stay by myself for a time, and it comes to me how much William has been through. The loss of two mothers (three if you count me) and Jane. _Consistency indeed_. Also, the loss of his very identity. He had been loved, that much I knew, but must feel very alone and confused just now. I remember how difficult the same situation was for Brianna. She felt heartbroken and torn, betrayed. Compassion wells in me, and as the sun sinks behind the trees I feel a tear slide warm down my cheek. 

-o0OOO0o- 

That evening, lying close and warm next to Jamie, I hear how their meeting went. 

Jamie took the boy to the White Spring, that place of truth. William was quiet on the trail, turned inward. When they arrived, Jamie broke the thin scrim of ice and took a cold mouthful. William did the same, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

Jamie settled himself on a boulder and smiled at the boy. “So, if ye’ll forgive my asking, what brings ye to the Ridge?” 

William didn’t answer immediately. He sat as well and drew in a deep breath before speaking. “First, I should like to thank you for your assistance in the matter of Jane, and also for the care you’ve given her sister.” 

Jamie waves his hand in dismissal, “’Twas nothing lad. Any decent man would have done the same.” 

William gave a mild snort, “I take leave to doubt that. Still, not any man did. You did, and with barely a thought. I knew M--,” he hesitated, then went on, “Mother Claire, both she and my father say you are an honorable man. Apparently, they are right.” 

They sat with this for a moment, admiring the slant of golden sunlight through the yellow of chestnut and birch. When William didn’t say more Jamie ventured, “The thought had occurred to me that ye may be in some trouble?” He made the last into a question. 

William shrugged irritably. “No. Not trouble exactly. I have someone to find, my cousin Ben, but I cannot continue in that search until spring. That’s not why I’m here.” He stood up suddenly, and paced a bit before taking a deep breath and facing Jamie squarely. “I have come to ask if I might stay for a time. Here,” he adds, as if there were doubt, “on Fraser’s Ridge.” 

Jamie was surprised, but quickly brought his face back to neutrality. He still thought William likely needed help in some way,but maybe it isn’t the kind he needed before. He stood and extended a hand, grasping the lad’s shoulder. “Aye, of course, ye’re always welcome.” 

Wiliam takes a step backward, away from him, but not in a harsh way. “Thank you. I don’t require anything. I can sleep in the barn or wherever is convenient.” 

Jamie smiled at him, “Aye, that’s good, but we can likely find ye a bed.” 

They made their way home in the last light of the day. Jamie felt as though a new path had opened before him, unknown and steep, but one that led to a bonny place. 

-o0OOO0o- 

The next day we bid farewell to John Quincey, off to overwinter with the Cherokee. William stays. He gradually fits into the routine of the Ridge; hunting, doing farm chores, and joining Roger or Bree whenever they venture out. He is beloved instantly by the children, playing with the boys, talking with Fanny, and carrying Mandy perched high on his shoulder. Still, he is mostly quiet, listening and observing. 

I can tell Brianna is pleased, eager to embrace this new brother. William seems equally in awe of her, and they seem to find joy in each other. More than once I catch Jamie watching them, a look of quiet happiness on his face. 

One day I come into the study to find Jamie looking out the window. Outside Brianna and William are exercising the horses, walking them in circles and brushing their shaggy winter coats. He doesn’t turn, but he must have sensed me, because he holds his hand out toward me, inviting. I take it and he draws me against him. I circle my arms around his waist, and feel his arms come around me in turn, the warmth of him a comfort and a blessing. 

Jamie is still engaged in the scene outside, “I never thought to see such a grand thing, Sassenach.” 

I give him a squeeze of acknowledgement and laugh. “Neither did I! I nearly fell off the porch when I saw William.” 

Jamie smiles as well, “Aye, and ye weren’t the only one.” 

He holds me for a while longer. I look up at Jamie’s face, happy now, but with tiny lines framing his striking blue eyes. I can feel the scars on his back beneath his shirt, and it comes to me how many hardships he faced to bring us to this moment. I am moved with love for him, and lay a hand over his heart. “Jamie, I want you to know. I’m glad he’s here. We all are.” 

Jamie takes my hand and turns to face me fully, “I know ye are. You are a wonder, truly. He isna yours, and it isna right that he should be here to torment you. Thank ye Claire, for welcoming the lad.” 

“Posh,” I say gently. “He’s _yours_ , Jamie, for that alone I would love him. But also…” I pause, looking outside while I gather my thoughts. “Also, I love him for himself. He’s a fine boy and he was very kind when I spent time with him in Boston.” I know Jamie doesn’t like to recall my marriage to John Grey, but it matters here. “I think- maybe, I can be there for him, maybe be a sort of mother to him.” 

Jamie doesn’t answer and I glance up. I am surprised to see unshed tears glimmer in his eyes. “He couldna have a finer one,” he says huskily. He pulls me close then, bends his head, and kisses me. His mouth is soft and his arms are strong, and all is warmth and hope between us. 

-o0OOO0o- 

The evenings are long in winter. It is the time for songs, and fires, hearth and home. When the family gathers late in the evening, the children tucked in bed, we often tell stories. We hear Highland tales of kelpies and fairies, farmers and lairds. We hear personal stories about family and friends, also C.S. Lewis, E.B. White, Louisa May Alcott, the lives of Saints, romantic poetry, and Greek heroes. And in each telling, regardless of the subject, we reveal a bit more of ourselves to one another. 

It is nearly a fortnight before William tells a story of his own, venturing forth with a story about Sergeant Cutter that has laughter ringing from the rafters, fit to wake the entire Ridge. He speaks more often after that, sometimes tales of adventure, and rarely, of his boyhood. Once he even mentions a groom named MacKenzie. 

Tonight we are up particularly late, and the room has grown quiet. The air is heavy, and I know we will wake on the morrow under a blanket of white. Into this expectancy William speaks. Quietly, his elbows on his knees as he watches the hearthfire, he begins a story of Isobel. 

“Mother Isobel loved Christmas. She festooned every railing and mantel with greenery. The whole house smelled grand. Even if it were only the two of us, as it often was after we lost grandfather, we sang carols, and had pudding and candies. She made it special every year… magical. To a boy.” He pauses and we wait, listening to the gentle crackle and pop of dried pine wood. 

“One year there was a terrible storm. I remember the wind howling down the chimneys and causing the yule log to flare up and wave about. I was frightened and began to cry and whinge. I was a little devil truly. I was really crying from loneliness though, and from being left behind. Mother Isobel somehow knew the truth of it. She took me onto her lap and stroked my hair. ‘Willie, my darling, sometimes those we love cannot be with us. We may wish it fervently, but circumstances cannot be changed. Absence doesn’t mean they love us less, or we them. Indeed, it is often their care for us that keeps them away. They must do what is necessary. But remember love, they are never gone from our hearts.’” 

William looks at Jamie. “I thought those words ridiculous then. I felt abandoned, and I let my grief turn to anger at those who left me.” He takes a deep breath, “Now though, I think I understand, and I find Mother Isobel was wise indeed.” 

“Aye, that she was,” Jamie says kindly. 

We sigh collectively. Roger pulls a guitar into his lap, strumming a chord. “Let’s have a tune. A song to love’s sacrifices,” he says in his rough voice. He turns to Brianna and smiles. “They are always worth it.” 

As Roger plays my mind wanders. First to William and his story. Yes, maybe healing of a kind _is_ needed, hopefully has begun already. I will do all I can to help, and the peace of the Ridge will be a balm if William lets it. There is no outside world, no war here. Not yet. Not in winter. 

The sacrifices of love. I remember Frank and dear Uncle Lamb. Then further, to Geillis, Dougal, Rupert, and Colum. They all loved, whether people or causes or places or things, and made their choices accordingly. And where were they now? I shudder and Jamie pulls me closer against him, a buttress against the past. I lean on him gratefully. We two know better than anyone the heavy sacrifice that true love can require, and times like this are all the more precious for the knowing. So I return to the present, put my head on Jamie’s chest, and simply listen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise some fun times for the Fraser family in the next chapter!


	3. Snow Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inhabitants of the Ridge need to get out of the house and into the snow!

Mandy wanders into my surgery toting Esmeralda. “Grannie, what you doin’?” 

“Growing mold, darling, or trying to.” In truth the current effort is a total loss, not surprising this time of year; but as I am out of penicillin, I thought I’d give it a go by placing the bread close to the fire and keeping it moist. _Oh well_. I toss the resulting mess out the window and give my granddaughter my full attention. 

“Do you need something dear?” 

“I bored.” I grimace. It is the death-nell for peace in any century. 

“Would you like to read your book?” 

“I read it already.” 

“Would you like to help Grandma?” 

“Ewwww.” 

I sigh. Even the adults are starting to feel cabin fever, and little Mandy hasn’t been further than the privy in two weeks. I hold my hand out to her. “Come along. Let’s find Grandda and have some fun.” 

-o0OOO0o- 

Within a quarter hour the entire household is covered in layers from head to toe, standing in knee-deep snow, and happier than they’ve been in days. Germain sticks out his tongue to catch a fat fluffy flake. Roger is more mischievous. Quick as a cat, he drops a handful of icy powder down the back of Brianna’s dress. She jumps with a squeak, and turns to chase him. That’s all it takes. Suddenly the place explodes in activity. Snowballs are flying to and fro, children are squealing, and I am delighted. 

Someone grabs me around the waist and I shriek in startlement. “Got you, Sassenach!” Jamie lifts me off my feet and whirls me in a circle. 

When he sets me down, I turn on him in mock outrage. “You’ll not surprise me again, Jamie Fraser!” He dances out of reach and I bend to make a snowball, hurling it with all my force. It sails through the air and lands with a splat directly on the top of Jamie’s horrible slouch hat. Jem notices and begins to giggle, so of course Jamie crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. At which point we all erupt in laughter. 

Eventually people move on to more sedate projects. Brianna commandeers William and Jem to begin construction of an igloo. Fanny follows along and starts work on a snowman to go outside it. Roger, Jamie, and Germain begin defensive walls for a true snowball war. 

I look down at Mandy, who seems torn by the myriad choices. “Have you ever made a snow angel, darling? Let’s try it.” 

I lead her to a corner of the clearing where the snow is untouched and not quite so deep. She watches me lie down with misgiving on her face, her mouth pursed into a perfect angelic bow. My subsequent flapping adds a crease to her white brow. However, her face clears when she sees the rather lopsided snow angel. I stoop to add a halo. 

Mandy hops up and down happily. “Pretty! I try! I try!” 

“Yes, of course! We can make a family of angels if you like.” And so we do. Giving each figure an individual flourish to indicate who it represents. 

When our art is complete Mandy dashes off, returning a moment later leading Jamie and Roger each by a finger. They congratulate her heartily. “Well done, _a nighean_ ,” Jamie pats her scarf-wrapped head. 

“Aye. Good job, lassie." Roger scoops her squealing into the air. “Come with me and you can see Mam’s igloo. It hasn’t fallen down yet.” 

Jamie looks me over with a grin, “Ye’re verra bonny Sassenach. Ye’re all aglow and ye’re curls coming out of your cap.” 

“Oh?” I say, attempting to push curls under my toboggan*. 

Jamie takes my hand to stop me, “Aye, like a golden-eyed angel. Ye’re only missing wings.” He reaches around my back as if looking for feathers, but finding none pulls me to him and kisses my cold nose. 

“Well, if I’m an angel then so are you. A fiery warrior all in white.” I brush off a bit of snow in illustration. 

He laughs and takes my arm. “I’m no angel Sassenach, and well you know it.” 

We walk back to the house and sit together on the edge of the porch, watching the family at play. 

“I must say that William fits in well.” 

“Aye,” Jamie says as William and Jem charge across no man’s land, snowballs at the ready. “It’s been a blessing having him here. Would that he could stay.” 

“You never know,” I say, remembering when he said the same about Brianna. “But even if the spring sees him gone, he’ll take us with him. He’ll _remember_.” 

Jamie pulls me into a hug. “Aye, he will. Ye’re a wise woman, _mo_ _ghràidh_.” 

Jamie gives me another squeeze and notices Fanny and Germain watching from beside a snow man. He grins and surprises me with a smacking kiss for the benefit of our spectators. I swat playfully at him, laughing. Then he leans down and kisses me full on the lips, so that I am rocked backward in his arms. 

From somewhere I hear laughter and a smattering of applause, and from the vicinity of my knee, “Yuck, Grannie. Yuck Grandda.” 

I feel Jamie smile against my mouth, and he sits us both up again, steadying me. Then he bends and brings Mandy to his knee. “Yuck, ye say? Well we’ll see.” 

He kisses her round pink cheek, blowing raspberries, and tickling Mandy until she is breathless with laughter. 

-o0OOO0o- 

After this display I take Mandy by the hand and we head inside. Fanny sees us and follows, ready to come in. I set about whipping up a batch of molasses cookies. They will be welcome when the hoard descends shortly. 

Lulled by the warmth Mandy falls soundly asleep with her head on the table. Fanny lays her gently on the settle and covers her in a quilt. Then she sits at the table and watches me stir the dough, bringing it into submission most energetically. I pause for a moment to place a glass of milk in front of Fanny then begin spooning the cookies out onto a sheet. After a sip she seems to gather courage for something. “Mrs. Fraser, how old were you when you wed?” 

I pause in surprise and I have to think for a moment. “I was nineteen the first time.” 

“The firss- first time?” She’s surprised. I think it’s hard for people to imagine me with anyone besides Jamie. 

“Yes.” I smile at her. “I was very young and then I-, I lost him. Then I found Mr. Fraser.” 

“Do you think I will marry?” 

“Of course, if you want to.” 

“Oh, I want to,” she says enthusiastically. “Jane, (she swallows but goes on) Jane wanted to marry but she said she couldn’t, no one respectable would have her.” 

“Oh,” I don’t quite know what to say, but continue matter-of-factly. “Well, you’re quite respectable.” 

She considers this, then, “Do you think William will marry?” 

_Oh, I see_. “He likely will someday. He seems rather unsettled at present though.” I slide the cookies into the oven and sit down beside the girl. “What’s this about dear?” 

“Well. I would like to marry someone when I’m older, if-“ she hesitates and looks up at me uncertainly, “if you and Mr. Fraser will allow it.” 

“Fanny dear, Mr. Fraser and I only wish you to be happy.” 

“Truly?” 

“Truly.” I smile, trying to be reassuring, and she smiles tentatively back. I have a feeling this conversation isn’t over, but just then the door bursts open to admit a snow-encrusted and merry crowd. I see Fanny’s face light at the sight of William, brushing the snow from his hat. _Oh dear._

-o0OOO0o- 

The next day Fanny and Mandy practically skip along the path in front of us, seeming to swirl through the air like snowflakes. Brianna and I stride along behind. “Stay on the path!” Brianna calls as the girls disappear around a bend in the trail. We are off to visit Jenny and Rachel, who are hosting a quilting circle. It is a lovely day, cold and clear. 

“So, how are you? Still happy to be back?” 

She laughs, meaningfully hefting a bundle of rags and food a little higher on her shoulder. “Yes. Sometimes more than others.” 

I smile, catching her meaning. “And Roger?” 

“He’s still feeling his way with his congregation, but he’s happy here. He feels useful. Suits his male pride I suppose.” 

I smile at that, “Yes, I can see how that could be.” 

She considers something. “He does seem different recently though, quiet sometimes. Like he’s waiting, or sort of resting? I don’t know. I think he’s thinking about what will happen with the war.” 

I sigh. I’d seen it in Jamie too. He seemed to be stockpiling moments, storing them against the changes that will inevitably come. I touch Brianna lightly on the arm. “I understand. Your father is the same.” 

We walk a few more paces. The air is so fresh as to be almost buoyant, and Brianna’s mood lightens. “Oh well, we’re all here now, even William. And it’s a lovely day. And Aunt Jenny will have made cider.” 

-oOOO0o- 

It’s warm and cozy inside Ian’s cabin. We laugh and talk while Mandy plays under the quilt frame and baby Murray gurgles on a pallet. While not easy with needle and thread, Brianna and I have had to learn, and quilting requires no great skill. You simply choose a pattern and set to work. 

After a time, the conversation turns to William. 

“He’s a Fraser, nay doubt,” Jenny remarks. Her eyes shift to Brianna, sparkling with mischief. “Ye canna mistake a child of Jamie’s blood, that’s certain.” 

Brianna laughs, “Of course not, we are tall and stubborn. Just like Da.” 

“Not to mention those eyes!” Fanny chimes in without thinking. Her face goes shockingly pink and she hastily looks down at her needlework. This causes the whole group to erupt in laughter. 

“I do wonder what’s on the lad’s mind,” Jenny says after we’ve calmed down again. 

Rachel cuts her thread expertly. “Yes, Friend William seems very quiet. Then again when I met him before he was either most grievous injured or fighting a war.” 

“He is assuredly Jamie’s son then,” I say with a smile. 

-o0OOO0o- 

Toward evening, Jamie and Ian appear. They’ve been hunting together. “Ready, Sassenach? It gets dark early this time ‘o year.” 

“Yes, of course.” We gather our things and bid farewell to the Murrays. 

Brianna goes ahead with Fanny, anxious to get Mandy home and start supper. Jamie and I take our time. He tucks my arm into his, and we proceed down the rough trail as if we are strolling the gardens of Versailles. Jamie must have a similar impression because he remarks with a smile, “ _Comment allez-vous, mon cher?”_

I smile in return. _“Très bien, et vous?”_ I look at him closely. He seems peaceful but tired. _“Êtes-vous bien mon amour?”_

Jamie shrugs and returns to English. “Och aye. I’ve chased young Ian up and down the moutainside all day. He’s as agile as a painter. I might be just that wee bit tired.” 

“And a wee bit worried?” I ask gently. I know my husband very well. 

“Aye weel, maybe so. I’ll tell ye Sassenach. I’ve rarely been so happy as I have these last weeks, and it makes me dread what’s to come all the more. I know I should be grateful. I _am_ verra grateful. And yet I cannot help myself looking forward.” 

We walk along in silence, the snow crunching under our boots. I don’t know what to say, platitudes certainly won’t do. Eventually Jamie breaks the silence. “I know there is a great deal of the war left to be fought. Wee Roger has told me some, as much as I want to hear in any case,” he says ruefully. “I know this peace won’t last.” 

I sigh, and say the only thing I can, “But you have them now Jamie. You have them all for a while. And you have me. Always.” 

“Aye. I do. And may the angels preserve us.” He stops and turns to me. He smiles a little, bending low in a courtly bow, and raising my hand to his lips kisses it softly, _“_ _Et tu m'as aussi, mon cœur. Toujours.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Toboggan – regional term for a winter hat. Used in the Carolinas, the Virginias, and where I grew up (eastern Kentucky). Call it an hommage to My Old Kentucky Home. I’m pretending Claire was an early adopter and picked it up from her backcountry acquaintances. : ) 
> 
> Gaelic 
> 
> mo ghràidh 
> 
> my dear 
> 
> French 
> 
> Comment allez-vous, mon cher? 
> 
> How are you, my dear? 
> 
> Très bien, et vous? 
> 
> Very well, and you? 
> 
> Êtes-vous bien mon amour? 
> 
> Are you well my love? 
> 
> Et tu m'as aussi, mon cœur. Toujours. 
> 
> And you have me as well, my heart. Always.


	4. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inhabitants of the Ridge get a winter cold. William opens up to Claire.

I wake languorously, the feel of Jamie’s body solid next to mine, and the light still gray and dim. He feels me wake and rolls toward me, pulling my back against him and placing his hand in its usual place on my breast. I feel him kiss the crown of my head. 

“Sleep well, _mo_ _ghràidh_?” 

“Yes. I had a nice dream.” 

“Aye,” he says, interested, “What did you dream?” 

“Oh, this and that,” I turn over to face him, and allow my hand to lightly caress the red fuzz of his chest. “Mostly I dreamt of Lallybroch. Ian was there. He spoke with me and we walked to the loch. He didn’t have his wooden leg. He was whole.” 

Jamie sighs in content, stroking my arm casually. “That’s good then. And what did he say?” 

“He said he’s pleased Jenny is here. She’s happy with Young Ian.” He grunts. “He said he’s pleased for you too, that ‘ye’re bairns are about ye at last’.” 

Jamie doesn’t speak, but rolls onto his back, my head on his shoulder and his arm about me. “That was a verra nice dream, Sassenach.” 

“Yes, it was.” 

We lay still together as the light grows. I watch the first rays ignite the tendrils of Jamie’s loose hair and smile to myself. What a wonderful way to welcome the new day.

-o0OOO0o- 

After a lovely beginning, the rest of the day hits me like a mortar shell. Germain spends breakfast sneezing, usually (I observe with a sigh) in the vicinity of the biscuits. Jem, Mandy, and Fanny are little better, coughing and sniffing. When Roger and William come in from feeding the stock the red noses may be from the cold, but not the dripping noses. I stand up straight and wield my spoon imperiously. 

“Right, you lot. Back to bed. Brianna, would you be a dear and start some broth?” 

-o0OOO0o- 

I put them all in the surgery where I can keep an eye on them, crammed on pallets before the fire. There is some resistance from one William Ransom, but it is quickly overridden. 

“Ye might as well lie down,” Roger informs him. “There’s no arguing with her when it comes to sickness.” 

“Aye lad,” Jamie lends his voice in agreement as he is bringing in firewood. “You do look a mite peely-wally.” 

William blinks at “peely-wally”, but clearly feels too poorly to face down this many opponents. He says nothing further, but falls sideways into bed with a grunt. 

They aren’t terribly ill, just miserable and shivering with fevers. I feed them broth and soothe the children, but mostly they just rest. 

Late in the day, when the others are asleep William grabs my sleeve to stop me as I begin to leave. He speaks somewhat hoarsely. “I thank you for looking after me. You are most kind to do it.” 

“It’s nothing William, of course I will care for you,” I say gently, then moved by impulse, I add, “so will your father, Jamie I mean.” 

He swallows painfully. “I know, but we still haven’t really spoken about our…situation.” 

I lay my hand on his cheek and the coolness must come as a comfort, because I see him relax slightly. I smile at him. “You know, I once cared for your father, Lord John, in just this way. Do you remember?” 

“Yes, measles wasn’t it? Thank heaven we haven’t got that plague.” 

“Yes,” I agree. “While he was ill your father and I spoke quite a bit. He loves you a great deal, you know.” 

William nods and I go on, taking his hand. “So does Jamie. He loved you enough to let you go, even though it broke his heart to do it.” 

“I’m afraid...I didn’t take the news very well when I learned about...about Jamie.” 

I squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry. He understands. When the time feels right for the two of you to speak, don’t hesitate. You’re a part of this family William. You’re safe here, and _most_ welcome.” 

His voice is soft and thick, “Thank you, Mother Claire.” 

I see wetness in his eyes so I lay down his hand, give it a gentle pat, and leave him to himself. 

-o0OOO0o- 

Nursing is hard work, and I feel great relief when my patients begin to stir after a couple of days. When Jem becomes irritable and short, I know the end is near. I gratefully hand the cloths and spoons over to Brianna and make my way upstairs. Jamie helps with my stays and skirts and gets me into bed. 

“Ye’ve done braw work lass.” I smile as the words bring back an echo of our early marriage, a raid among rocks, and Dougal’s aversion to his own blood. 

“Didn’t do anything at all really, just watched and nursed.” 

Now it is Jamie’s turn to smile. “Ye always say that. I’m sure ‘watching’ is how you’ve gotten blisters on your hands.” He kisses the one closest to himself then moves to the end of the bed to rub my feet. 

“That is pure heaven.” His strong fingers ease the tension and I feel myself melting into oblivion. But I remember there is something I want to pass on before I succumb. “Jamie…” 

“Hmmm?” 

“Come here a moment, won’t you?” I reach my hand toward him and he moves to sit halfway up the bed, where we can see each other. “Jamie, William needs to talk to you. I think,” my eyes are closing of their own accord, but I rally for one final try. “I think he’s ready to be your son.” 

The last thing I see before my eyes close is one of Jamie’s sweetest smiles. The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is a calloused hand smoothing back my hair, and a tender kiss on my temple. 

-o0OOO0o- 

A few days later everyone is well. Brianna is at the spinning wheel, making is whir happily, “Christmas is next week, isn’t it, Mama?” 

“Why, yes. Time has flown by.” 

“Will we have a tree, Mam?” Jem asks from his place near the fire, where he is practicing sums. 

Brianna turns to me, “What do you think Mama? Most people don’t now, do they?” 

“No...” I say slowly. That’s true. Most people now would have no notion of a Christmas tree. But really, it was unlikely to do any harm. The immigrant families in the area brought a lot of new traditions. This could just be another. “But that needn’t stop us. It could just be another idea you brought from ‘Boston’.” 

Brianna grins at Jem. “Let’s do it then.” 


	5. Joyeux Noël

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas on the Ridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing everyone a beautiful holiday!

Jamie sighs in satisfaction, and I know he is savoring the soft warm weight of the granddaughter he feared he’d never see again. Mandy lies in peaceful slumber, her cheeks pinked by the nearby fire, her dark baby-fine curls framing her chubby face. Even after months I can hardly believe she’s here, healthy and safe, her heart problem a thing of the past. She will grow strong and free in the mountains. _Thank God._

It has been a blessed day, Christmas Eve, and it’s very late. William, Fanny, and Germain have already retired to their rooms. Jem is asleep on the hearth rug. He will have to be moved later, but for now everyone is too content. The room is warm and glowing. It smells of wood fire, beeswax candles, and the sharp resinous pine of Brianna and Roger’s Christmas tree. I smile at the memory of their bringing it in. Jamie had watched curiously, but he hadn’t protested. I suppose he’s used to our strange ways, and after all, there is no harm in it. Jamie had spent an unusual amount of the day indoors, making various excuses. I think he enjoyed watching Brianna and I stringing popcorn, the children making ornaments. 

Now Roger is sitting with Brianna’s head leaning against his shoulder and his hand on her knee. They are speaking quietly together, the soft language of a married couple who are as comfortable with one another as with themselves. When they returned to the Ridge Roger said the future is no longer safe for them. I pray that they may be safe here, remote enough to be spared the worst horrors of war. 

I move to Jamie‘s side and smile softly at Mandy, bending to kiss the little girl’s black curls. Then I raise my head and find Jamie’s lips, giving him a gentle kiss as well. 

“Sit wi’ me, Sassenach.” He draws me down with his left hand, still cradling Mandy in his right. 

I settle next to him and sigh contentedly, looking at Brianna and Roger. “Bree always loved Christmas.” 

“Aye?” he says, interested. “And what did she like best then?” 

“The lights,” I answer without hesitation. “In our time we have small lights on strings. They glow without flames. Remember I told you about electricity?” 

He nods, frowning slightly at the memory of the wondrous, dangerous energy I had described. 

“These lights work on electricity,” I go on. “They shine like the tree is covered in lightning bugs of every color. Brianna was enchanted as a girl. She wanted them everywhere; strung around the windows and over the mantel. Then she would sleep in the parlor by the tree.” 

He glances at our own tree. Roger had fashioned a star for the top out of twigs. It’s a small merry thing, but nothing sparkles from the fresh springy boughs. “Do ye think she misses it Sassenach?” 

I look from him to Brianna. My daughter reaches up and smooths a dark strand of Roger’s hair from his face. They are absorbed in one another. “No,” I say softly. “Her loves are here.” 

As if called by my gaze Brianna rises and comes over, bending to gather Mandy in her arms. “We’d better put the kids to bed. Santa might be here anytime.” Though not the norm in this time, four small stockings hang by the fire, another oddity Jamie absorbed today. 

“Aye,” Roger says, coming up behind Brianna with Jem in his arms. “Off to bed with the weans.” 

Brianna kisses our cheeks, bending awkwardly over Mandy to reach us. “Merry Christmas Da, Mama.” 

“Happy Christmas darling,” I return as she follows Roger upstairs. 

-o0OOO0o- 

The thump of little feet on the stairs shakes the whole house and I groan into my pillow. In turn Jamie chuckles, rolling over to throw his arm across my back. “Happy Christmas, Sassenach.” I groan again but crack open my eyes. The sunlight is thin through cracks of the shutters. It’s still quite early. I blink and close my eyes again. 

Jamie peeks over my shoulder. “Now, none ‘o that.” 

He kisses the back of my neck and gently rolls me over. He is smiling sweetly down at me with his hair in morning disarray about his head, and I can’t help but smile back. “Happy Christmas to you too.” 

He leans down and kisses me, and I feel the soft stubble of his unshaven cheek. Then he pulls back and grins. “Let’s go see what Santa’s brought, aye?” 

He fairly bounces out of bed and I laugh, rising more slowly. “You know he only visits children?” 

Jamie is enthusiastically pulling on his stockings. He peers up through strands of russet and copper, “Aye, I know! But I want to see how Brianna does Christmas. I dinna want to miss anything.” 

I yawn once more, and smiling, throw a shawl around my shoulders, “Me either. Off we go then.” 

-o0OOO0o- 

The children enjoy their stockings immensely. They are filled with peppermint candy, a top, and clay marbles. Jamie watches them quietly, a smile on his face. 

In the afternoon, it’s time for presents. As I work on the enthusiastic knots Jem added to his gift, my attention is drawn by Fanny. She shyly rises from her stool and approaches William. He glances up with a smile. “Hullo Fanny. Happy Christmas.” 

“Hello,” she smiles tentatively back, “I-- I made you a present.” 

“Well, I thank you,” He pats the spot next to him. “Sit here by me.” 

She does so and hands him a folded square. He unfolds it to reveal an embroidered handkerchief, a corner cleverly decorated with swimming fish and golden rings, a nod to his seal. 

“Why, it’s beautiful,” he says sincerely, and Fanny flushes with pleasure. “I have something for you as well.” William carefully refolds the handkerchief then hands her a small parcel, wrapped in a scrap of muslin I’d given him for the purpose, and tied with twine. 

Fanny takes the gift, eyes shining. “Th-- thank you.” She pulls on the string and reveals a fragrant wooden box, polished but unvarnished, the top carved with the letters FP and a tiny flower in each corner. The lid is perfectly made to snugly fit the bottom. The entire room is quiet, now as riveted by the scene as I am. 

“Isth beautiful,” Fanny breathes, forgetting to enunciate in her happiness. 

“Open it.” 

She does so, and her eyes fill with tears. “Is this?” She swallows. “Was this Jane’s?” Fanny reaches into the box and delicately withdraws a lock of hair, secured with a tiny ribbon tied in a bow. She sets the box aside, and strokes the soft brown strands gently. 

“Yes, I took it when...when I last saw her. I thought you might like to have it.” William answers softly. 

Fanny closes her hand over the bundle, and her eyes as well. “Thank you, William.” 

He reaches out and puts a hand on her arm. Fanny opens her eyes and I see a light spring into them, and a tenderness, even in the midst of her grief. I remember everything she has seen, and realize that in some ways, Fanny is mature beyond her years. I reluctantly prepare to intervene. It’s obvious, at least to me, how the girl misconstrued the gift and the gesture. Just as I begin to rise William says, “Frances, you must know how dear Jane was to me, even in the short time I knew her. You are dear to me as well.” He smiles. “Why, I think of you as a little sister.” 

Fanny jerks a little at that and pulls her arm from under William’s hand. She takes a deep, ragged breath. “A sister? That’s how you see me?” 

William blinks, unsure what to make of her reaction. “Well, yes. I hope that is all right?” He gives her a concerned look. “I did not mean to offer offense.” 

Fanny stands abruptly, replacing the lock of hair and closing the box carefully. “Of course, I thank you again for the gift and ... and for your _kind regard_ .” She backs up a step, turns, and flees upstairs, moving with speed but not running. _Poor girl_. 

William looks from face to face helplessly. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“No dear,” I sigh and rise. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to her.” 

-o0OOO0o- 

Fanny is a brave, practical girl, and she is back with us shortly. I spoke with her upstairs, and I know I will probably need to again, but for now she is all right. 

The rest of the day passes most pleasantly. The snow comes down in soft white flakes outside the window and the fire crackles happily. We sing carols and enjoy our gifts, playing chess and tic-tac-toe and marbles. 

In the evening Brianna recites A Christmas Carol, with the various ghosts enacted by the children (to the detriment of the linens). I listen with Jamie’s arm around me, laughing occasionally, and feeling blessed. We are sitting half in the shadows, and I have a quilt pulled over my lap against the chill. I feel Jamie shift and there is the crinkle of paper in my lap. I look down to see one last gift. “For you, Sassenach.” 

I look up at him in surprise, smiling, “Whenever did you have the time?” 

“Oh, I may have had this put away for some little time. I wanted to give it to ye at the right moment, aye?” 

I look at the gift again, curiosity peaked. I heft it in my hand. “Well, it isn’t a new kettle.” 

He smiles but doesn’t say anything as I pull back waxed paper, then to my surprise, dark green velvet. Nestled inside is a set of stunning tortoiseshell hair ornaments. Each is adorned with a dragonfly, made of gold, the eyes glimmering rounds of amber. I am awestruck. “Jamie. They’re gorgeous. Simply lovely. But, they’re so expensive...” 

He stops me with a gentle kiss. “Dinna fash. I managed is all.” He strokes one with a large finger and looks up at me shyly. “I saw them and knew they were meant for ye. They mind me of Hugh Munroe’s wedding gift, and the amber does look just like your eyes.” 

Said eyes were blinking back tears at the moment. “They’re beautiful. Truly.” 

“Ye’re beautiful, Claire. Ye deserve them, and so much more.” He leans down for a true kiss then, tilting my chin up to meet him, his mouth soft and warm. When we part he stays close to me, his eyes tender and guileless. 

I lay my hand against his cheek. “We’re not Hugh’s dragonfly any longer, Jamie. We’re not trapped, not by time nor circumstance. We’re flying quickly, so quickly now.” 

“Aye.” He touches my cheek in return, outlining my bones with a calloused finger, and smiles gently, “But we’re doing it together, however long or brief the journey. This time, there’s the two of us.” He closes the inch between us once more, kissing me. Then he twists a strand of my hair up and back. I can see the various colors from the corner of my eye, the light brown, gray, and blonde. Jamie secures it with a dragonfly and does the same on the other side. 

“Merry Christmas, bonny lass.” 

“Merry Christmas, love.” 


	6. Clear as Joy, Bright as Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the new year begins, father and son find each other.

Hogmanay is a festive affair, despite a freezing rain and dropping temperatures. The house is full of people. There is dancing and merrymaking right up until the moment Roger takes on his traditional role as the first foot. After he enters and presents Jamie with gifts of an egg, wood, salt, and whiskey the inhabitants of the Ridge scatter like birds so they will be ready to greet Roger at their own doors. Jamie and I follow him and Brianna onto the porch and wave them on their way. 

Just as we turn to go back inside William steps up. “If I might have a moment?” The boy looks sober, nervous, and somehow eager. A strand of chestnut hair is loose on his cheek, freed by the evening’s fun. 

Jamie smiles. “Aye, of course. What’s to do?” 

“I was hoping to speak with you. I’ve had it in my mind for a while,” William glances sideways at me, and I give him an encouraging look. “And the new year being upon us I thought there could be no better time.” 

Jamie seems surprised but gestures toward the dooryard. “Aye. Walk wi’ me then?” 

William nods. Jamie bends to take a lantern from the stoop and I reach inside the house for his cloak. William takes up his own lantern. Jamie bends to kiss my cheek. And they step off the porch together, heading toward a path leading up the mountain. As the two men make their way into the night, cloaks held tight against the chilling weather, I watch until I can no longer see the bobbing of lanterns or hear the crunch of boots. 

I stand for a moment longer, listening to the ping of half-frozen droplets on the roof, hoping these two very stubborn men will finally come to terms with one another. A gentle urge to pray for them moves through me. So I do, my arm wrapped around the porch post. I silently pray for the young man seeking his place, straddling the gulf between familiar English aristocracy and a whirl of newfound Scottish kin. And for the other, my Jamie, who I know longs for closeness with his son. For the relationship sacrificed early on, the necessity of which was accepted but evermore grieved. I can see the flicker of new-sprung hope in Jamie, kindled by William’s presence, and so my prayer is simple. _Lord, please. Give them back to each other._

-o0OOO0o- 

Jamie and William return a little time later. I have been waiting up for them, and as they enter I see the ice has turned to light snow. No one says a word, but Jamie’s smile tells me everything I need to know. 

They hadn’t gone far, just up the hill to the cavern we use as a stable. Jamie sat on a bale of hay and gestured for William to do the same. The lad declined, too full of nerves to sit. Instead he paced a step or two then turned to look at Jamie. “The time has come for me to make some decisions regarding the course of my life.” 

Jamie nodded, but didn’t speak so William continued, leaning against the railings behind him and gesturing as he talked. “Do I embrace this new land? Make it my own? Or do I return and take my place as Earl? I have a task to complete come spring. But then…” He trailed off for a moment, then shrugged. “Then my life is my own. To shape as I will.” He turned to Jamie. “And before I decide on that shape, I should like to know exactly how things are between us.” 

Jamie spread his hands. “Speak ye’re mind lad, or ask what you will. I’ll be honest with ye.” 

William nodded, seeming suddenly hesitant again, and finally sat on his own bale across from Jamie’s. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “When I found out you were my father, I’m afraid it was rather a shock. I was angry, felt betrayed. I would like to apologize for that.” 

Jamie made a dismissive gesture, “Nay worry. I understand.” 

“Do you, indeed? Well then, good.” William let out a breath and sat up straight. “I also understand why you and Papa did what you did for me as a boy - to a point. But why keep it from me later? When I came to the colonies, why not tell me then? By law I’m an earl either way.” 

Jamie rubbed his jaw, eyes on William. “Aye, that’s true. It just seemed a hard thing for a man to take, and it wasna likely we should ever meet.” 

“But we did meet. We were in the same city for God’s sake. Did you....” William unconsciously clenched his big hands. “Did you not want a son? I mean, it could complicate matters for you, with Mother Claire or Brianna maybe.” 

“Och no! I wanted ye. I’ve always wanted ye William. Believe that if nothing else. No. ‘Twas only I thought you better left as you were, secure in yourself. But I’ve always wanted ye.” 

Suddenly William stood, impatient, and his blue eyes flashed in the lantern-light. “You say so. But you left me. You had me with you at Helwater and you left me.” 

Jamie felt his color rising and took a deep breath, “And I’m sorry for it. I had to leave. People were noticing the resemblance.” 

“Do you know that I never forgot you? You’re leaving was....” William turned away, facing toward two sleepy heifers in their stall. “Well, I didn’t understand. I was only six. One day we were inseparable and the next you were gone.” Jamie sees William’s tense shoulders slump and the next words come softly, but with an intensity that tears Jamie’s heart. “I _grieved_ for you.” 

Jamie slowly came to stand beside William at the railing. “I mourned your loss as well.” He laid a hand on William’s shoulder. “I thought of you and prayed for ye. I never forgot you. William, lad, you are my _son_. I love you dearly and always have.” 

The broad back under Jamie’s hand rose and fell in what might have been a sob. Then William swiped at his cheeks with his sleeve and faced him in the dim light. “If I’m your son then I’d like very much...for you to be my father.” He rushed to prevent Jamie’s response. “I’m no longer a little boy. I don’t want anything from you, not money nor even public acknowledgement. I’d never take what is Brianna’s. All I want sir..Jamie..is you as a father, and to be your son.” 

Jamie’s own eyes grew moist, “Nothing. Nothing would please me more.” Jamie reached under his shirt and withdrew a beechwood rosary. The very one he gave William all those years ago. Wordless, he offered it once again. 

William looked down at the beads, glossy with age, and he finally understood. His feelings of mixed loyalty, of fear, have all been unnecessary.What he had with Lord John and what he had lost could never be replaced; but there could still _be_ . There is room in his heart for Papa and Mother Geneva and Mother Isobel. For Jane and Fanny. And there is still yet room for Jamie and Mother Claire, for his strange sister Brianna, for Ian and Jem. For _all_ of them. He found there is space in his heart to embrace them all, places as unique as snowflakes for each of them, and fitting them there needn’t displace other loves. 

And he realized too, that Jamie’s heart held a similar space for him. He looked at Jamie, his father, and saw tenderness and joy looking back. _He does want me_. The realization was as cleansing as cold water. This father truly did want him in his life. William felt tears gather anew in his eyes as he took the rosary. 

“Da,” he croaked blindly. He didn’t have to take a step before he felt arms around him, and he was a little boy rescued from the mist once again. Safe, and finally, secure in his place. 

-o0OOO0o- 

Jamie and I steal down the stairs as quietly as we can, feeling almost giddy with exhaustion as we make our way outside in the freezing pre-dawn. The last stars shine far above us, the snow ended, and the horizon is lightening over the distant peaks of the Blue Ridge mountains. Jamie unfolds the quilt he carries and wraps us both in it, his natural heat soon warming the interior of our shelter even as our ears and noses grow cold. He links his hand with mine and we watch, mesmerized, as the sun rises. Everything is coated in clear ice, each tiny branch a singular thing of beauty. The first rays spark and glint, and in an instant the clearing is lit in a crystallized splendor of rose and gold. We are suspended in the moment. It is beautiful and sacred, joyful, and hopeful above all. A new year. 

We stand for minutes, but as the sun separates from the horizon Jamie takes a deep breath, lets is out, and time is moving again. Homey kitchen sounds reach our ears and Jamie turns to me. “I never thought to be so blessed. Never in life.” He puts his hands on my hips and draws me closer, the quilt slipping unregarded from our shoulders. “Claire, after Culloden... I despaired of ever being more than a ghost haunting the place he was happiest. Then you returned, and I was alive again. And the weans, it is you who made our family possible. Not just Brianna, but William too. You bridged the gulf between them and me, both of time and the heart.” He brought one of my hands to his chest, folded it, and held it in one of his, his other arm pulling me even more tightly against him. “You are the beginning and the end of this family _mo_ _nighean_ _donn_. No matter what the year brings, war or anything else, thanks to you I can face it in the knowledge my family is loved, and that they ken it well.” 

I blink and a tear slips warm down my cheek, catching on the curl of my lip as it wavers with a smile. Having no words I stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Just before our lips meet, he whispers, “I love you.” 

“And I love you, Jamie. Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this piece of fluff as much as I enjoyed writing it. Happy New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> Ieremiah, an toireadh tu taing?  
> Jeremiah, would you give thanks?


End file.
